Who can charge Ebrio with a Thirst of Wealth? See, he consumes his Money, Time, and Health In drunken Frolicks, which will all confound, Neglects his Farm, forgets to till his Ground; His Stock grows less that might be kept with ease; In nought but Guts and Debts he finds Encrease; In Town reels as if he'd shove down, Yet Walls must stand, poor Soul, or he must fall. None preaches better than the ant, and she says nothing. Gifts burst rocks. If wind blows on you thro' a hole, Make your will and take care of your soul The rotten Apple spoils his Companion. ENIGMATICAL PROPHECIES